The White Swan
by DCflame
Summary: Princess Tutu is a trained bodyguard and assassin, known as "The White Swan", working for-hire. Mytho is a big-time drug dealer known as "The Cold Prince" for his lack of empathy. Fakir is The Cold Prince's "Knight" and right-hand man - with a grudge to settle with The White Swan. Will a big-time drug run be ruined by old and new feuds - or end 'successfully? New take on PT.


She drove up in a silver Lamborghini Aventador.

He was watching for her out the window. Frankly, he'd expected a car with class – but not one of the most expensive supercars in the world. He owned a Lamborghini as well, but not an Aventador. What with that price tag… And besides, he'd been way too busy of late.

He grinned in anticipation. It was easy to tell that the upcoming week was going to be fun.

She carefully stepped out of the car, locked it, and left it there on the side of the road in the suburban neighborhood. No one would dare touch it, after all – no one who knew who was driving it, which, admittedly, were the only sort of people who'd attempt to steal it.

But the car itself was nothing compared to who drove it. He would've moved towards the door to open it for his guest, but he was stunned.

Flaming red hair and wide blue eyes glimmered in the sunlight. A simple white tank top with obvious designer origins, along with flared, dark denim jeans. A gold cuff on each wrist, which she raised to shield her gaze from the glare of the sun. Her eyes rose to the window, and met his –

He moved to the door, undid the four dead bolts, and opened it up as she made her way up the front steps and across the porch.

"A lead lined door. Two layers of safety glass in each window, too." Her voice struck him as oddly soothing, considering her chosen profession.

"I've had some trouble recently." He smiled slightly. "But you already know that…"

She was silent for a moment, her expression unchanging but inwardly struck. She'd seen photos of him, of course… Background checks, rumors, reading up all she could on this guy… But his presence blew her away. Was it those eyes? That complexion? That hair? Did he bleach his hair? It was strangely white…

"Right." She averted her eyes. Don't get the hots for the client. It'd suck if he ended up dead… which had, unfortunately, happened before.

"Please, come in." He moved out of the way of the doorway, and she entered the house, eyes taking in everything.

"I'll assume you have everything locked up?" She asked. "Voice and retina locks?" Her hand hovered near her waist.

"Obviously. Can I get you anything to drink?" He replied. "It's pretty early in the morning… Orange juice?"

He went towards the kitchen. She turned to stare after him, unimpressed with his disinterested behavior. "…Don't you take your safety seriously?"

"Yes. Why do you think I hired you," he opened the fridge, "White Swan?"

She glared at him, unsure of whether to take it as flattery or sarcasm.

He turned to look at her over his shoulder, smirking.

The White Swan. He'd expected someone not as… commanding in presence. Someone who didn't stick out as much. But she certainly knew how to make a statement – that much was obvious.

"White Swan," he began. "For-hire bodyguard and assassin. Current hit list includes a member of the House. Total body count: 58. Years in the business: 7." He paused and looked at her again. "Since you were 14?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled with patience. "Yes, since I was 14."

"First victim…" He poured two glasses of orange juice. "I want to say… Robert Heinman?"

"Heinzman," she corrected. "Lured into an alley with a shout that my brother was in danger." She sighed. "I have no brother."

"Big insurance payout for his second wife, I hear." He handed her the glass.

"And a decent paycheck for me," the White Swan smiled. "My dad forced me into it, of course, but…" She tapped the glass with her fingernails. "College doesn't come cheap. And I felt that I must take over the family business."

"College? The White Swan?" He stared at her over his glass.

She frowned at him again. "I'm a strictly for hire bodyguard, sir. I have no obligation to stay here."

He straightened up. "I know, I just didn't expect you'd need to go to college. With this business you're in… Well," he pointed to the window. Just outside sat the Aventador. "I figured you're set for life."

"In money, sure." She took a gulp. "But boredom… That's something else. Surely you know what I mean… Prince."

His smile froze. "Prince?"

"That's what they call you. The Cold Prince. Because every awful thing you do…" She took another sip. "You do it without emotion. And you do it for fun." She set down the empty cup and stared at him. "It's all a façade, isn't it?" Her tone was thoughtful.

He looked away. "Yes."

They sat in silence for a while, staring out the window at the Aventador.

After a few minutes, the sound of a door slamming within the house alerted them. Immediately, the White Swan's hand went to her hip - a concealed pistol was in a hidden pocket on her jeans – and looked at the Cold Prince in question. He shook his head, and her hand fell away from her hip.

"Let me warn you," the Prince said as the sound of footsteps came closer, "he's not too happy about this arrangement."

"I've been in more tense situations."

Another young man, about the same age of the Cold Prince, entered the kitchen. He was dressed in a worn white tank top and faded jeans, and his long hair hung limp and loose about his face. He started to speak, but his voice stopped dead when he saw the White Swan. A few seconds crept by.

"What is this bitch doing here?" he swore. His back went rigid.

"Hey," The Prince warned, "please don't yell. I went through and hired her. We talked about this last night."

"God damn it!" The new man yelled. "Have you seen her hit list?! How do you know she's not after you?!"

The White Swan bolted up from her chair, body tensed. "I don't backstab. It's bad for business."

The man stared at her in rage. "I'm the only bodyguard he needs," he ground out.

"Doesn't seem that way. He hired me!"

"Shut up!"

"Don't tell me what to do. And don't call me names."

"I'll call you whatever I want, b-"

The White Swan's leg flashed out, clipping the man's face. He stumbled to the side, shaking with rage. "How dare you!" He was about to lunge for her, but the Cold Prince slipped in front of him. "Knight," he said firmly. "Don't."

The Knight took a few deep breaths before replying. "I don't trust her. You shouldn't either!"

"I know." The Prince's tone was chilled. "But we need her. We're talking 500 miles. One man can't protect it all himself."

The Knight glared at the White Swan, who returned the stare calmly. "Fine. Whatever. But this isn't over." He brushed by her and outside. The front door swung shut with a slam.


End file.
